Lost Hope
by Centroides
Summary: What happens when one of the guys loses hope?
1. Chapter 1

**Lost Hope **

Chapter 1

Goniff ambled into the kitchen where breakfast was coming to a close. He rubbed the top of his head tousling his hair even more and looked about the table. Mrs. B., as she was called, had heard him come in and within minutes placed a plate of scrambled eggs in front of him. He rewarded her with a big grin then sat and dug in. Chief came in the back door and grabbed a piece of toast from Goniff's plate.

"'ey, I was goin' to eat that."

Chief just walked over to the counter, leaned against it and proceeded to eat.

Mrs. B put two more slices on to toast. When they were ready she replaced Goniff's stolen slice and put the remainder on a plate. These she placed on the table and gave Chief the 'Don't argue. Sit.' look. He took it for a moment then sat. All was quiet for a time.

Garrison, even though he was finished, sat quietly enjoying the peace. They had arrived back from Italy last evening with enough time for the debriefing before bed so that was taken care of and there was no mission to plan for. All had gone well so no extra training was scheduled, just a day of peace and quiet. He sat drinking his coffee and staring into space.

Suddenly he realized he was staring at Chief's hand. It so startled him he blurted out the question without thinking.

"What happened to your fingers?"

Suddenly all eyes turned to Garrison and following his stare, to Chief's hand which promptly dropped the toast and vanished under the table. After a nervous pause he answered in a surly tone.

"Nothin'."

Still he felt all the eyes on him. He hated being stared at especially now. Back in prison he would have stopped it by attacking. He could not do that now. He also could not explain what had happened, what he had done.

Being careful not to uncurl his fist he got up from the table and started towards the back door. He had to get away. He knew he could not escape the question or the stares completely but he could delay it for a time. If only he could hide until the damage was healed. No way that was going to happen but he had to try.

Garrison rose to intercept him but Chief was faster and by ducking he managed to elude his commanding officer. He was out the door and down the stairs.

Garrison took two steps after him then stopped.

"What was wrong with his fingers?" asked Goniff.

Garrison turned. All remaining eyes were now on him. He knew how Chief felt.

"Never mind." Planning quickly he added, "You did well on the last mission so if you want to go into the village, I'll give you each a pass. Just stay out of trouble." Not trusting himself he headed to is office.

Behind him he heard the others discussing what had just happened.

Casino had not had time to see Chief's hands so could only speculate. He thought back to their last mission. He could think of nothing that could have affected Chief's hands. He clenched his fists and felt the pain of bruised knuckles. He and Goniff had done all the fist fighting while Chief just had to go into the Italian prison and get the prisoners ready to be rescued. If he had been tortured or beat up it would be his face that would be damaged not his hands.

Goniff came over to stand at his side.

"Did you see?" When all he got was a shake of his head he continued. "It wouldn't be nothin' or Chief wouldn't a took off. Think someone should go after 'im."

"No. Leave him be. He will tell the Warden when he is ready," replied Actor as he gathered his dishes and took them to the sink.

"Yeah. Just after Hell freezes over," muttered Casino. "Did you see his hands?" He looked to Actor and Mrs. B. Neither answered.

Mrs. B knew. She had seen his hand when she gave him the 'sit down' look. She knew from experience. Should she tell the Lieutenant? Maybe he already knew but wanted the young man to face up and admit it. She shouldn't interfere. But then maybe he really didn't know. Maybe if she spoke to the officer he would take it easier on the boy. At least he was not an alcoholic or something like that that could get them killed.

She had to help the boy. He reminded her of her youngest son, Timmy. He was somewhere over in Europe fighting. She feared for his safety. She knew she could not help her son but maybe she could help this young man. In spite of the talk that he was a killer she knew him as a shy, polite young man. When the others left she finished the dishes then drying her hands on the tea towel she headed for the American officer's office. When she arrived the door was almost closed but she could hear him on the phone. Never one to eavesdrop she turned and went back to the kitchen.


	2. Chapter 2

**Lost Hope **

Chapter 2

Chief did not show up for lunch but that was not unusual. Garrison was not worried. He doubted Chief would go AWOL over this. He noticed looks being exchanged between the other cons. He vaguely wondered what their conclusions had been.

Chief would undoubtedly show up for supper. He realized that if he came in for supper and nothing had been resolved then there would be a repeat of breakfast. Chief would not admit anything while everyone was watching him. He had to find Chief and talk to him alone. Neither part was not going to be easy.

Garrison walked out onto the terrace and lit a cigarette. He casually scanned the courtyard but knew there would be no sign of his missing man. Asking the guards would be of no use. Feeling somewhat anxious he walked down the steps and out through the gates to the rest of the estate grounds.

He had gone a fair distance following one of the faint trails that ran through the park. It certainly was pleasant here. He took his time, enjoying the quiet. There was no sign of war here. Finally it was getting close to tea time so he headed back feeling more at peace but somewhat discouraged. About two hundred yards from the gates he stopped to light another cigarette. As he tilted his head back to blow out a stream of smoke he happened to look up into the tree and saw a man sitting on one of the branches leaning back against the trunk. He sat there watching him, not moving.

"Chief, I'd like to talk to you."

"So, talk."

"About your hands."

"It ain't nothin'." Anger was evident in his voice.

"It looks to me like you bit your nails rather badly. I remember your hands didn't look like that when I first got you out of prison so this has to be recent."

There was no response so he continued. "From what I understand that could be triggered by an event, something that caused you to do that." Still no answer. "What was it?"

"None'a your business."

"It is my business." Garrison refused to be bated by Chief's anger. He kept his voice calm. "As your commanding officer your health is my business. If something is bothering you it is up to me to deal with it."

"Ain't nothin' to deal with."

"Well something's bothering you."

"Yeah. You. Just get off my back."

"Chief. What kind of leader sends a man who is bothered by something into that situation again. If you were bothered by .. say spiders (he had almost said scared) what kind of a commander would I be if I continued to send you first into deserted cellars all the time?"

"I ain't scared o' no spiders."

"I didn't say you were. I was just using that as an example. Now what was it?"

"I told you. Nothing. I already dealt with it."

"If you tell me then I can try not to put you in that situation again."

"Don't matter." The anger was easing. "It's OK now." The last three words were said quietly.

Garrison continued to watch him.

Chief knew Garrison was waiting for an answer. He ran through his feelings. Would it hurt him to tell? What would Garrison do about it? What if he was lying about keeping him out of that situation? Could he deal with it again? He pictured it happening again. No he was OK with it. He understood and he could deal with it if it happened again.

Now the telling, that was going to be hard. To understand something was not the same as explaining it. Would Garrison understand that? Chief leaned forward, swung his legs over the side, twisted to grab the branch and sliding off, dropped to the ground. He dusted his hands off then looked in his leader's eyes. There was the usual sincerity. He had to remind himself that he had nothing to fear from this man. It was just hard to trust someone with what Garrison was asking. To admit being bothered by something …. the wrong person found out about that and they could make your life hell. It had happened when he was at the Residential School. His refusal to cooperate had resulted in beatings and eventually a stint in the dark cellar closet. He had screamed and cried the whole four hours. When they let him out he was so grateful he had put the dreaded uniform himself. After that any infraction or perceived refusal led to a threat of cellar confinement. He had complied until three days later when he had had enough. He could not live like that. He saw some of the other children who had broken. They were like old tumbleweed blowing in the wind. Even their eyes were dead. He was not. He had too much anger, lived through too much pain to just give in. He finally refused their orders. He refused to go quietly but once in the dark confines he had closed his eyes and wished he was someplace else, someplace where he had been happy. He thought about where he had been before they had taken him. He had run and ended up lost out in the New Mexico desert. He was hungry and thirsty when an old woman had found him. She didn't speak but by gestures led him to water. He had stayed with her for almost a year. They were hungry times but he had learned to love and trust. He sat on the cold hard floor and pictured in his mind the desert at night. How was this any different? He brought to mind the sounds of the night. He had delighted in listening to the animals as they hunted. The old woman had taught him to listen and identify the sounds such as the mouse skittering about. The flight of the owl you would not hear but the sound of his landing or the squeal of the last breath being driven out of the tiny body was sometimes audible. The sidewinder had a distinctive sound as did the coyote. Then there was the scream of the paint. The Puma was the old woman's spirit guide. Though frightened at first he had learned to love that sound. It embodied all that was free, all that was strong, all that was untameable. To him, all those things were unobtainable. He would have liked it to be his spirit guide as well. Some day he would know who his was. The old woman had pointed to him and then the eagle that soared in the cloudless sky but he didn't know if she was telling him or just pointing it out. It sure looked as if his was the mouse. Surrounded by predators waiting to kill him. Maybe that was how he had survived because no matter how many animals hunted the little creature they always survived. He had even seen a mouse fight back against a rattler. He had lost but he didn't go quietly. That's the way he had had to live. Always fighting, not always winning but never going quietly.

That was how he had survived solitary. Instead of concentrating on the walls closing in on him as he had, he pushed them back in his mind till they no longer existed. He turned his prison hell hole into a place of refuge.

He turned away from that thought and back to the matter at hand. No, Garrison had not gone away while he had considered what to do. How to tell him and how much?


	3. Chapter 3

**Lost Hope **

Chapter 3

"I can't explain."

"Try." The word was spoken softly and with out pressure.

"You can't understand." Chief turned away, as if turning his back on the problem would make it go away.

"Then explain it to me so I can understand. "

He took a deep breath, released it then began. "When I was in prison …" He swallowed though his mouth was dry. "Well, it was just the way it was." Again he took a deep breath and released it slowly. "I uh … well that's all there was." Pain was evident in his voice as he bent down and picked up a dead branch and began breaking off the tip angrily. "So you deal with it," Snap.

"Cause you got no choice." Snap.

"Every day," Snap.

"Knowin you're gonna die." Snap

"Maybe today," Snap

"or tomorrow." Snap

"You don't even look that far." Snap.

"Then you come along." Chief whirled around flinging the branch into the bushes and glaring at Garrison as if it was all his fault. He looked away and took several deep breaths and crammed his hands into his pockets.

Garrison watched and tried to figure out where he was going. The team had been together for a while. That couldn't be the reason. There had to be more. Some incident, a trigger. He watched the man before him struggle with his emotions. Angry one minute then defeated the next.

"With each mission we survived I got ta thinkin'." There was a tentative hope in his voice. "Maybe I ain't gonna die today or tomorrow. Maybe I gotta chance to live just … a little longer." Then quietly he added, "Especially between missions." He had liked that feeling. He hadn't felt that in so long but it felt good. Best not to get your hopes up but he would enjoy it while he could.

"Then …" He pulled his hands free, turned and took several steps away then stopped.

Garrison watched as his whole body reacted to the remembered tension. His arms were stiff at his sides, hands clenched into fists. His back was straight and his head thrown back. He took a deep breath and released it audibly. He lowered his head and clenched his hands in front of him as if he were trying to prevent the damage to his injured fingers from happening again. He turned to face Garrison.

"Walkin' into prison ain't no big deal. You know I done it before." He paused to take several breaths before continuing. "But this time …." He looked away to hide the pain, breathing with his mouth open. He wanted to run.

Garrison could see he was getting close. He could see the tension, the reluctance to continue. The urge to run was obvious. With anyone else he would have reached out and touched their arm to reassure but knew this would have the opposite affect on Chief. He remained where he was.

The silence stretched.

"Did something happen in the prison?" He tried to ask in a neutral tone. He didn't want to think about what that might have been.

"When I walked through that door and it shut and locked, it was as if … as if you had left me like everyone else. Like you were gone. All hope was gone. Any chance I had was gone. Everything was gone and I was all alone again. Trapped." The anguish tore at Garrison's heart.

"But Chief. You knew the plan. We wouldn't leave you there."

Chief turned and strode back to face Garrison. The anger had returned.

"Don't you think I don't know that?" yelled Chief.

Then the anger vanished. "I just kept thinkin' maybe something' happened to you, or maybe it was all some big joke. What if you got caught or something' …."

"Chief. You know we always have back up plans. You're not giving the rest of us much credit. Besides if he didn't hear from us our contact would have contacted London. Help would have come."

"We're expendable, remember," he said ruefully.

"I think they may have changed their minds on that," he said, a smile easing his features.

"Bet your life on it?"

Garrison's reluctance to lie to his men gave him the answer.

"But we did come back like we said we would. You need to trust us, as hard as that may be."

Chief looked down at his hands. "It's not that." He looked up at Garrison. "When that door locked, I lost hope. If you got hope then you can face anything. Without it you're lost. I lost hope." He looked at his fingers and the damage he had done because of that loss. He clenched his fist and turned the damage away. He looked back to Garrison as he chewed his lip. "When you haven't had any hope for so long, a little bit's kinda hard to hold onto. But you came back and got me, like before."

Garrison nodded in understanding then asked, "You were in a prison cell after you robbed that museum …."

"Wasn't alone either."

Garrison smiled. "I'll make sure next time it's not you that has to go into a prison."

"It's OK Warden. I got hope now. I got enough to hold on to. I'll be OK."

"Good. Let's go back. Supper will be ready soon."

Chief hesitated. He knew it was not over yet but he had to face it sooner or later. He followed Garrison back to the Mansion.

They were both right. Tea was laid on the table and the others had just sat down.

As they came in all eyes were on his hands. He waited a moment then faced them. He held up his hand. In a voice filled with cold anger he asked, "Yeah, I bit my nails. You got a problem with that?"

The following silence lasted only a moment before Goniff answered. "Is that all? We thought you got a tattoo or you carved your initials or something. Cause I knew a guy back in prison who did a tattoo on a friend of mine. He put this girl's name …"

Chief watched the faces as Goniff finished his story. He was relieved to see that they did not consider it anything to be concerned about. In fact they all settled in to eat ignoring him completely.

Yes, he had hope now.


End file.
